Sold!
by Rhianwen
Summary: [Chapter 3 uploaded!] It's fundraising time at North Valley High again. What untold horrors will occur when Amp inadvertantly suggests a bachelorette auction as a lucrative money-making scheme?
1. Chapter 1

Sold!  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: You know the drill. I don't own them. I don't know who does. But they probably don't care that I'm using them, although I'm sure the actors that played these people would shake their heads in dismay if by some crazy fluke of chance they ever happened upon this. Thank heavens the chances of that happening are astronomically few. ^_^  
  
  
  
Notes: Well, it's my first try at a Super-Human etc. 'fic that hasn't been blatantly Malcolm/Sydney-ish. It still is, to some point, but they don't actually get together in the end! Yaay! How very revolutionary for Rhianwen! ^_^  
  
  
  
  
  
When they looked back on that week, the week of the student charity date auction, and all the chaos and madness that occurred within it, most of the students of North Valley High School would have been hard-pressed to tell you how all this had begun.  
  
If you asked Sam, there had been nothing particularly strange about the week, but then again, Sam was likely the wrong person to ask, since he had only known about half of the story.  
  
If you asked Jennifer, the whole thing had been due to the stupidity of boys in general.  
  
If you asked Yoli, it had all been Tanker's fault, and the muscle-bound idiot deserved to be tarred and feathered for the sheer mental anguish that she, among others, had been forced to endure.  
  
If you asked Amp, it had been the fault of the little elves who lived inside the drinking fountain and made the water go. They had been having a boring stretch, and had wanted some excitement.  
  
However, no one ever asked Amp for reasons that may be obvious by this point.  
  
Tanker, Sydney, and Malcolm were always strangely quiet about the incident when looking back on it. Perhaps this is not so strange in the case of Malcolm, who didn't tend to willingly voice his thoughts about anything, unless they were negative. Of course, when one considers that the only thoughts possible to have on the incident were negative, it becomes strange again when one also considers that Malcolm rarely had a problem voicing negative thoughts.  
  
  
  
At any rate, it is high time that this incident alluded to be explained fully. And so, we now join a small portion of the Charity Club, who had met in the school cafeteria to brainstorm, in the thick of their discussion on one fine Wednesday afternoon early in April, as to the best way to go about raising money to donate to North Valley's largest women's shelter. It should, Jennifer Doyle, president of the club, decided, be creative, effective, and something that people would be interested in.  
  
Thus far, it had proven very nearly impossible to combine the three into anything at all, and utterly impossible to combine them into something doable.  
  
"And I don't care how hard you beg, Sam," Jennifer told her boyfriend, Sam Collins sternly. "We aren't having another pyjama party!"  
  
"Aw, Jen, everyone loved it!" the young man protested.  
  
She rolled her eyes.  
  
"We got locked in the school, and the heater malfunctioned!"  
  
"That wasn't my fault," Sam reminded her with as chilling a dignity as he could affect.  
  
"All the same," Yolonda Pratchert broke in, "no more pyjama parties. We need something else."  
  
"A...bake sale?" Sydney Forester suggested, giggling. She knew of the rest of the club's aversion to bake sales. They were, Jennifer often said, way too boring to bother with, even if they were effective.  
  
"Uh...no?" Yoli replied.  
  
"Quilting bee?"  
  
The group of teens turned to glare at the source of this suggestion.  
  
"No quilting bee, Amp!" Jennifer admonished.  
  
"Aw..."  
  
"Look, Amp, you can stay and help if you want," Yoli offered, her tone clearly stating that there would be a condition. The tone did not disappoint. "But. If you do, you have to make serious suggestions."  
  
"I've got it!" Tanker exclaimed. "Let's get people to sponsor us, and then push a bed around the outside of the city!"  
  
"Tanker," Sydney began mock-sternly, "you can stay and help if you want. But if you do, you have to make serious suggestions."  
  
Sam, Jennifer, and Amp all laughed at this. Yoli looked rather foolish. Tanker simply looked confused.  
  
"That was a serious suggestion," he said with a shrug.  
  
"That may be, Tanker," Jennifer spoke up, tucking a loose strand of sandy- blonde hair behind her ear, "but it's not really that practical for us to do."  
  
"I know," Tanker grumbled. "I just thought it'd be fun."  
  
"And then, after we were done pushing the bed around the city limits, we could all collapse onto it and have a group nap," Amp snickered.  
  
"No sleepovers!" Yoli, Jennifer, and Sydney barked together.  
  
"I don't know what else we can do, though," Sam pouted. "We could...oh! We could stage a play! It'd be awesome! We could charge an admission, and give the proceeds to the shelter."  
  
"And how would we get the costumes and set, Mr. Idea?" Sydney demanded, rolling her eyes slightly.  
  
"The drama department might help us with that if we begged real nice, Syd," Yoli told her, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "Y'know, guys, Sam just might've come up with our idea, Jen!"  
  
"Yes," a new voice drawled coldly from outside of the table. "Except for the fact that you all have the acting talent of a rock. A rock that is a particularly bad actor, of course."  
  
"Oh, hi, Malcolm," Jennifer greeted the dark-haired youth with as little enthusiasm as was possible for one's tone to contain without outright hostility.  
  
"Have you come to help us brainstorm?" Sydney asked hopefully.  
  
"We can always use more people in the club," Yoli added, already reaching for her pen and sign-up sheet.  
  
"Get real," he shot back at the two girls. "I'd sooner douse myself with kerosene and light my hair on fire."  
  
"Be careful what you wish for," Tanker muttered.  
  
"Cool it, Tank," Sam muttered to his friend before shooting Malcolm a somewhat forced smile. "It's for a good cause, you know. And we could use more people to brainstorm."  
  
"And this means what to me?" Malcolm demanded with a contemptuous sniff.  
  
"Hey, just thought you might like to get involved," the sandy-haired youth shrugged.  
  
"Think again," the other boy shot back, turning on his heel and stalking toward an empty table.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes.  
  
"Y'know, there's a reason he's always alone."  
  
The rest of the table murmured their agreement, and then all fell silent again, still in search of the perfect fundraiser.  
  
"Come on, guys, doesn't anyone have any ideas?" Jennifer asked pleadingly, glancing about at her friends.  
  
Tanker shook his head sadly.  
  
"Not a clue here. I really liked the bed-pushing, but..."  
  
"But what use would anyone get from our pushing a bed around town?" Sydney demanded.  
  
"Hours of entertainment?" Sam laughed. "They could drive behind us - really slowly - and laugh at our suffering."  
  
"Yeah, but only if they were Malcolm," Tanker muttered, leaning in slightly so that the antisocial teen two tables away might not hear himself mentioned.  
  
Jennifer, Sydney, and Yoli giggled slightly. Sam snickered. Amp's thoughts, however, were elsewhere.  
  
He had been hitherto rather silent, examining several pieces of string, all in various colours, tied around his fingers and wrists. All at once, he leapt to his feet.  
  
"Of course! THAT'S what the green thread on the middle finger of the left hand meant! I have to go home and shine my brother's pants and iron his shoes for the bachelor auction!"  
  
"Um...I almost hesitate to ask, but don't you mean you've got to shine his shoes and iron his pants?" Sydney asked, frowning.  
  
Amp shook his head.  
  
"No, it's the way I said it. We haven't polished his pants in a long time. They're really beginning to lose their shine."  
  
"Amp," Yoli began slowly, "what did you say your brother had to get ready for?"  
  
"A bachelor auction," the tall, lanky boy replied absently, trying to tug the green thread off of his finger.  
  
"What's it for?" Jennifer asked, catching on almost immediately to Yoli's thought.  
  
"Charity. But I'll have to tell you about it tomorrow. Right now, I've got to run!"  
  
And with that, Amp bolted from the cafeteria, his legs seeming to be a few steps in front of the rest of him, as was his regular style.  
  
"Everyone," Jennifer began, a glint that rather frightened Sam, Tanker, and Sydney flashing into her eye. "I think we have our idea."  
  
  
  
"A charity bachelor auction," Mrs. Starkey repeated slowly the next afternoon, staring in disbelief at the six students gathered around the cafeteria cash desk. Then she shook her head with a sigh. "Jennifer, I know I said that I'd be your teacher chaperone in whatever you decided to do, and that I'd leave that deciding up to you, but do you honestly think that any self-respecting girl is going to pay for any of THOSE guys?"  
  
Jennifer gazed thoughtfully in the direction of the cafeteria worker's disgusted wave. Sam, Tanker, and Amp all stood in a row, grinning hugely and awaiting her answer. Then, as she caught the eyes of Yoli and then Sydney, she found it.  
  
"No, I guess not," she sighed. "Too bad, because it would have been fun."  
  
"It's okay, Jennifer. We can find something else to do," Sam assured her consolingly, then frowning as he realized that he'd just been zinged.  
  
Yoli, however, had other ideas.  
  
"Well, would any of you guys pay to go on a date with one of us girls?" she demanded.  
  
"Don't we already?" Tanker muttered to Sam, a fond smile softening the rather bitter-sounding question as his eyes lit on Sydney.  
  
"That's what I was thinking, man," Sam replied with a chuckle as Jennifer shot him a 'don't-you-dare-say-a-word-Sam-Collins' glare.  
  
"That's not what I meant," Yoli informed them icily, her cheeks growing slightly warm as her eyes flickered over a certain tall young man with bushy brown hair and a propensity for dressing up oddly. "I meant, we might be easier to auction off for dates. And a lot of the guys in this school are pretty decent when it comes to charity. If they get free food out of it, they'll be all for it."  
  
"So...we'd pay for the dates?" Mrs. Starkey asked slowly.  
  
"We can auction the dates off for more if we do," Jennifer mused thoughtfully.  
  
"I don't know...where are we going to find girls who would agree to being auctioned off?" Sydney wondered, shuddering slightly at the thought. "How degrading..."  
  
"Well, we've already got three," Yoli replied absently.  
  
"Yeah!" Jennifer agreed. "And I'm sure the other girls in the Charity Club'll agree to help."  
  
Sydney nodded thoughtfully, then stopped abruptly.  
  
"You said you already had three girls. There's you and Jennifer, but who's Number Three?"  
  
Yoli raised an eyebrow and smiled wickedly.  
  
"Oh, no," Sydney sighed. "You've got to be joking!"  
  
Yoli shook her head, her smile widening by an inch or so.  
  
"Believe me, we're not."  
  
"But...what student's going to pay to go on a date with Mrs. Starkey?!" Sydney exclaimed, before blushing sheepishly. "No offence, Mrs. Starkey."  
  
"None taken. These boys just don't appreciate a good woman when they see her," Mrs. Starkey said, winking at Yoli and Jennifer. Jennifer shook her head.  
  
"No, Syd, we're not talking about Mrs. Starkey. You'll do it, won't you?"  
  
"I was afraid of that," Sydney whimpered. "And no!"  
  
"Oh, come on, Syd! It'll be fun," Sam insisted.  
  
"But...but..."  
  
"And it's a good cause," Yoli pressed.  
  
"You'll have enough girls without me!"  
  
"Look, we either auction off you, or Mrs. Starkey," Sam told her sternly. "And do you really want to see that happen?"  
  
Sydney shot her best friend of several years the most loathing death-glare she could muster amid the laughter that followed, not the least from Mrs. Starkey, who, it seemed, had learned in her numerous years of experience that most important skill of laughing at oneself.  
  
"Fine," she sighed, wondering where that massive sense of foreboding had come from.  
  
"Great!" Jennifer chirped. "Now we just need to find nine more girls. I think twelve is a good number."  
  
"Hey, Jen, can I be the auctioneer?" Sam asked eagerly and entirely predictably. "I think I have the suavity to pull it off."  
  
"If you promise to behave yourself, it's all yours" Jennifer bargained, exchanging 'yeah-right' glances with Yoli.  
  
"Jennifer! When have you known me to not behave myself?"  
  
"Sam Collins!"  
  
"Fine, fine. I promise."  
  
"Oh, I have a bad feeling about this," Sydney, who was feeling rather resentful into being coerced into being one of those auctioned off, muttered to Yoli, who nodded emphatically.  
  
"But don't worry, Syd. We'll have plenty of overripe fruit on hand in case he goes out of control."  
  
"Not anymore," Mrs. Starkey informed her immediately. "Used the last of it this morning for tomorrow's special."  
  
"Uh...right. We can always GET plenty of overripe fruit in case he goes out of control. Either way, Sam, you go too far, you'll have rotten produce in your ears for days."  
  
"Understood," Sam agreed immediately, automatically reaching for his ear as memories of the last time he had found himself in that same predicament swept over him. He shuddered. Who knew that a simple enunciation error in the line, "My sword, ho!" from the scene involving the confrontation between Montague and Capulet at the beginning of Romeo and Juliet could get him in such trouble with so many females?  
  
"So, if everyone's good with this idea, the next thing to do is run it past Principal Pratchert," Jennifer announced. "Does anyone have any ideas on who should ask him?" she continued innocently.  
  
Almost immediately, all eyes swivelled to Yoli.  
  
"Oh, fine," she sighed. "Even though I don't see why Daddy would take my ideas any better than anyone else's."  
  
"Well, you can ask him about it right away!" Jennifer chirped brightly. "Any of us would have to wait until tomorrow afternoon. And anyway, it would have to be you or me, anyway."  
  
"Why's that?"  
  
"Well, he doesn't know Amp or Tanker well enough for them to convince him to agree," Jennifer began, "and he know Sam far too well."  
  
"Hey!" Sam protested.  
  
"And Syd's so obviously against it, she'd probably end up talking him out of agreeing."  
  
"Only if we were all lucky," Sydney muttered.  
  
"Okay, fine, I'll ask," Yoli grumbled. "But if I can't make him agree, don't all get mad at me, okay?"  
  
"Aw, you'll find a way to do it," Amp stated in utter certainty. "If anyone can do it, you can."  
  
  
  
"Absolutely not," Keith Pratchert declared later that evening in a similar degree of certainty.  
  
Yoli sighed, shifting in the large, comfy chair opposite her father's desk in his home office.  
  
"But Dad, it was really the best idea we could come up with!"  
  
"That makes me worry," he chuckled. "What else were you bouncing around?"  
  
"Bake sales, quilting bees, another sleepover-" At this, both father and daughter shuddered at the horrifying memory. Of course, Mr. Pratchert hadn't had to live through it, but the threat of all those lawsuits had been enough fuel for nightmares for weeks to come. "-staging a play, and Tanker had this really weird idea about pushing a bed all around the outskirts of North Valley and getting people to sponsor us for it."  
  
"Heh-heh-heh...our volleyball team did that in college," the dark-skinned man confided, shaking head over the memory. "We only made it halfway around before we gave up and collapsed. The very next day, our coach upped our workout regime. I suppose it was a little painful for him to realize that his team was that out of shape. Still, I think he could have given us a break. We were trying to push the bed around Anaheim, after all."  
  
Yoli stared at her father incredulously for a moment.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Mmmhmm," he nodded.  
  
Both were silent for a moment, and then Yoli leapt right back into her argument.  
  
"Seriously, Dad, how could a bachelorette auction be any worse than pushing a bed around the city?"  
  
"Oh, it's not that it's a bad idea, Yoli. It's just that there are a lot of people who might be offended by the idea of auctioning off dates with girls to the highest bidding male."  
  
"Dad, it's not like the dates aren't in public! And they're all high school guys."  
  
He snorted.  
  
"And that's supposed to remove my reservations?"  
  
"You've got a good point there," Yoli conceded with a thoughtful nod. "But it's for a really good cause. We figured we'd pay for the dates, and send all the kids to a restaurant somewhere, and maybe have a dance or something after. C'mon, Dad, doesn't that sound like fun?"  
  
"It does," he admitted. "I'll give you that. It does sound like it could be a lot of fun. It also sounds like it could turn into a big disaster. First of all, you're going to run into trouble with those strange girls...oh, what do they call themselves? They never shave their legs, they don't wear the normally required undergarments, announce it proudly, and go around kicking men in the shins."  
  
"Young Feminists of North Valley?" Yoli suggested.  
  
"That's them!"  
  
"They won't give us any trouble. Why should they? All the girls involved are volunteering."  
  
"I know, Yoli, I know. But who did you say was going to be the auctioneer again?"  
  
"Sam Collins," she replied, wincing inwardly. There was no way he'd agree now...  
  
"Exactly," Keith Pratchert agreed emphatically. "Sam Collins. How many of his little schemes have ended in disaster?"  
  
"This one wasn't his scheme. It was Jen's. C'mon, Daddy, please? If anything goes wrong, I'll take full responsibility. But nothing will," she hastened to add.  
  
The tall man hemmed and hawed for a time, putting a hand to his chin in deep consideration. Finally...  
  
"Fine, Yoli. Fine. I'll approve the bachelorette auction. But you can deal with the feminists. They scare me. I still have bruises from the last time I accidentally made a comment about a manhole," he concluded mournfully, rubbing his left shin.  
  
"Really?! We can do it?!"  
  
"Yes, yes, you can do it."  
  
"Oh, thank-you, Dad!" Yoli exclaimed, leaping from her chair, running around the desk, and throwing her arms around her father's neck in a warm hug.  
  
"Alright, alright, go away," he grumbled good-naturedly.  
  
Taking him immediately at his word, she scurried from the room, doubtlessly to go telephone the good news to Jennifer.  
  
Left alone in his office, the principal of North Valley High School sighed heavily, resting one elbow on the polished surface of his desk, and resting his head in his hand.  
  
"Why do I get the feeling we're gonna get sued for emotional trauma?"  
  
  
  
  
  
End Notes: Thanks for reading if you have! If you haven't, I guess you probably haven't seen this, so I'll just ignore you. ^_^ Anyway, I hope to have more up sometime soon. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
  
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Author's Notes: Don't you hate it when you find out that you unwittingly stole an idea previously used on a TV show that you've never watched before? To anyone who cares, I no longer own the idea of doing this plot with a group of insane high-school students. Damn you, 'Saved By the Bell...' ^_^  
  
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Sam sighed mournfully to himself, letting his head flop forward on the brightly decorated surface of the cafeteria table. Jennifer had put each member of the Charity Club in charge of several aspects of this crazy scheme of theirs. He, Sam, had been put in charge of finding a restaurant that would be interested in the business of several teenage couples at once. Thus far, it had not been going well, and as thrilled as he had been when it had transpired that Principal Pratchert had approved the date auction plan, he was beginning to wonder if maybe Sydney was right, and the whole thing was more trouble than it was worth.  
  
Ah, yes. Sydney. The source of one of his other twelve thousand current problems. It had turned out that Jennifer's concern about her inadvertently talking the principal out of approving the plan had been somewhat prophetic. After talking at least four previously willing girls out of participating as dates, Jennifer had changed her task to that of assisting Yoli with the organization of the dance following the dates. Still, this hadn't stopped his lifelong chum from going on at great length to a considerably stressed-out Jennifer, among others, about how badly this harebrained scheme was cheapening women in general. Naturally, being stressed out as she was, Jennifer had not appreciated this observation, and a fight had very nearly broken out. Sam had eventually managed to get both of them calmed down, and even each admitting that they were partially at fault for the tiff, but neither had been terribly inclined to deal with the other for a few hours after.  
  
And so, in addition to telephoning every halfway affordable restaurant in North Valley, he found himself delivering messages between the two.  
  
'For smart girls, they're both acting like idiots right now,' Sam reflected with a sigh.  
  
"Hey, Bro, how's it going?" Tanker asked, eyeing his best friend in concern as he dropped into the seat next to him.  
  
"Not good," Sam groaned. "So far, the only place that'll consider our business is Ikes. And we ALL know about Ikes."  
  
"Yeah," Tanker grimaced. "There'd be no time for a dance after if we went there. Well, have you phoned Cwazy Cat's?"  
  
"Hey, I had a few doubts about sending twenty-four kids off to any place that can't spell 'crazy,'" Sam said dryly.  
  
Tanker laughed.  
  
"Man, I know what you mean. It's a fun place, though. Even though half the waiters are on crack and the other half are rejects from the Disney store."  
  
"I think I'll just try somewhere else."  
  
"Hey, my uncle works at the Smush Club. He'd probably agree."  
  
"Great! I'll phone to there."  
  
"Hi, Sam," Jennifer greeted wearily, flopping into the chair next to her boyfriend. "Hi, Tanker," she added sheepishly.  
  
"Hey, Jen," both boys greeted.  
  
"How's it going, getting girls to sign up?" Sam continued.  
  
"Oh, it's fine, except for the Young Feminists of North Valley," Jennifer replied, rolling her eyes. "I swear, they've been following me around all day! And they keep asking me for Syd's number. I think they want to recruit her. She must have struck a chord with them with all her complaining about how our auction is 'degrading to women,'" she mimicked sourly.  
  
"Hey, I'm sure she doesn't mean it," Sam consoled her, patting her comfortingly on the shoulder.  
  
"Well, then why does she keep going on about it?" Jennifer demanded, pouting adorably. "I mean, it's not like the guys at this school are all letches. What are they going to do? Try to make a pass in a public restaurant?"  
  
Tanker looked up abruptly.  
  
"What?"  
  
Jennifer rolled her eyes.  
  
"I know! It's totally not going to happen! She's totally being way too paranoid!"  
  
"Yeah," Sam agreed, blithely unaware of the vein gradually working its way out from Tanker's forehead. "It'll be fine. Tell you what: I'll talk to her."  
  
"Thanks, Sam," she smiled, standing up. "Well, I've got a few more girls to talk to. I'll see you both later?"  
  
"Bye, Jen," Sam called, reluctantly letting go of her hand.  
  
"Yeah, see you, Jen," Tanker added absently.  
  
Minutes after she had gone, Sam stood.  
  
"Well, I've gotta go call the Smush Club. See you, bro."  
  
"See you, Sam," Tanker said absently, already deep in thought.  
  
"What smells like wood burning?" Mrs. Starkey demanded as she passed Sam on her way into the cafeteria.  
  
Noticing a puff of smoke rising from behind Tanker's head, she bustled over.  
  
"Aw, phooey!" she exclaimed, tearing off her jacket and slapping the tiny flame on the back of a very startled Tanker's chair with it. "Joe must've let those weird kids have a séance in here again. I keep tellin' him, remember to blow out all the damn candles! Although I'll never understand why they need candles on the backs of all the chairs..."  
  
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"No? Well, thank-you for your time, anyway," Sam sighed, setting the telephone back in the cradle mounted on the wall of the cafeteria.  
  
He mentally ticked 'Smush Club' off of his list of places to call.  
  
"Not going well, Sam?" a voice asked from behind him.  
  
"Oh, hey, Yoli," he greeted with a wan smile. Then his eyes fell on his long-time girl pal. "Hey, Syd."  
  
"Hi, Sam. So, what's wrong?" Sydney asked.  
  
"Oh... Well, I don't know where to call next to host us all for these dates. Nowhere I call wants all that business."  
  
"Well, Sam, where have you tried?" Sydney wanted to know.  
  
"Ike's, The Smush Club, Steak 'n Fish, The Lava Lamp, Triangle, and Tony's Pasta House."  
  
"Bummer," Yoli sighed. "Even Ike's didn't want the business?"  
  
"Well they did at first," Sam replied morosely. "But when I called to ask again, they said no."  
  
Sydney looked thoughtful.  
  
"Have you tried Café Eclectic?"  
  
Sam shook his head, laughing slightly.  
  
"Oh, man, there's no way they'll do it! We'd have to rent out, like, the whole place!"  
  
"Give it a try anyway," Yoli suggested. "That'd be a fun place."  
  
"I'll try it, I guess," Sam said doubtfully. "But I don't think they'll do it. What's got you suggesting places, anyway, Syd?"  
  
Sydney looked sheepish.  
  
"Well, I feel a little bad for talking all those girls out of joining. In fact, I should probably call Jennifer tonight and apologize for that. I just hope she didn't get mad and give the feminists my number," she added with a sigh.  
  
"Oh, come on!" Yoli laughed. "Jen can be a bit scary when she's mad - I mean, remember the time she sent Mrs. Starkey after Sam?"  
  
Sam and Sydney nodded, Sam suppressing a wince. Yoli continued.  
  
"But she's not cruel. And giving anyone's phone number to a group of militant feminists is definitely cruel."  
  
"That's true," Sam agreed thoughtfully. "So, we're setting up the information booth in the cafeteria tomorrow?"  
  
"Where else?" Yoli scoffed. "The cafeteria's the only place anyone ever goes."  
  
"That, and the hallway," Sam agreed with a laugh.  
  
"And Sam's basement," Sydney added, earning two curious and confused looks. "Um...never mind."  
  
"I don't know," Malcolm said, wandering in for some reason. "I have a lot of people in my closet at odd times, too."  
  
"Uh...that's great, Malcolm," Sam assured him, shaking his head as he wondered what was becoming of the sanity that this school had never possessed.  
  
"Hmph! Your thinly-veiled patronization is neither needed nor wanted!" Malcolm said huffily, turning and flouncing away. "I am going back to my closet where I am appreciated and loved!"  
  
"He'll be back," Sam commented to Yoli and Sydney. "No one can avoid the cafeteria for long."  
  
"I heard that!" Malcolm shouted from out in the hallway. "And no, I won't! I don't need you OR your cafeteria! I'll never be back! Never!"  
  
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"Hey, Malcolm," Sam greeted the dark-haired young man the next afternoon as he wandered into the cafeteria and found his attention immediately attracted by the insane amount of glitter the girls had opted to use on the "Charity Date Auction" banner stretched out across the top of their booth.  
  
Malcolm glared at his adversary.  
  
"Don't say it," he growled.  
  
"Don't say what?" Sam asked, confused.  
  
"Welcome back?" Sydney suggested, giggling.  
  
He turned to glare at her.  
  
"Didn't I just ask you not to say it?"  
  
"No," Yoli replied. "You asked Sam not to say it."  
  
"I would have thought that such a request would naturally extend to all of you," Malcolm sighed.  
  
Yoli quirked one eyebrow.  
  
"When someone's as literal-minded as Syd, you don't leave anything to be assumed."  
  
"Hey, speaking of something totally unrelated," Amp began, eyeing Malcolm suspiciously, "why are you over here? Are you going to sign up for the club? I think Yoli still has the sign-up sheet..."  
  
"No!" Malcolm replied, annoyed. "I just saw something shiny! So, what IS going on here, anyway?"  
  
"We're trying to gather support for this charity date auction," Jennifer told him. "All the dates are going to Café Eclectic, and then coming here for a dance after."  
  
"I still can't believe Café Eclectic agreed to do it," Amp murmured to Tanker, who nodded emphatically.  
  
Malcolm rolled his eyes in disgust.  
  
"Charity date auction? How...degrading."  
  
"See?" Sydney exclaimed triumphantly. "Malcolm agrees that it's demeaning to women!"  
  
Jennifer grit her teeth.  
  
"Syd, if you're looking to Malcolm for support, you're in a bad way."  
  
"Yeah," Malcolm agreed absently. "And what did you mean, demeaning to women?"  
  
"Well, we're the ones being auctioned off," Yoli explained, a strange sinking sensation filling her stomach as Malcolm's train of thought nearly manifested itself visibly in a fluffy little - very little - thought bubble over his head.  
  
"Really... All of you?"  
  
"And nine other girls," Yoli added.  
  
"When is this happening?" Malcolm asked her, his gaze meanwhile fixed intently on Jennifer.  
  
"Friday night," Yoli replied, shooting her best friend an apologetic glance.  
  
"I'll remember that," the young man nodded, turning and wandering away.  
  
"Damn him," Sam hissed.  
  
"Characterization, bud," Tanker said warningly.  
  
"That greasy little snot," Sam hissed.  
  
"Blood pressure, Sam," Amp said warningly.  
  
"I'll kill him," Sam hissed.  
  
"American legal system, Sam," Yoli said warningly.  
  
"I'll rip his spine out through his nose and beat him to death with it," Sam hissed.  
  
"All shattered sense of logic, Sam," Sydney said warningly.  
  
"Ew, Sam," Jennifer added more disgustedly than warningly.  
  
Sam blinked.  
  
"What?"  
  
-----------------------------------------------  
  
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"This is gonna be great!" he enthused three days later, straightening his tie before the mirror in the boys' washrooms.  
  
Tanker nodded enthusiastically.  
  
"Yeah, especially if a virus doesn't show up at an inopportune moment and force us to improvise a new plan, but ensure that we all come away from this having learned a valuable lesson."  
  
Sam and Amp laughed heartily.  
  
"Yeah, right! When has that EVER happened?" Sam demanded, slapping Tanker on the shoulder. "I think you've been ramming into too many goalposts."  
  
"But...but..."  
  
"Look, Tanker, do us all a favour and leave the paranoid ramblings to, like, Mrs. Starkey or someone. Just stick to football."  
  
"Fine," Tanker grumbled. "Football..."  
  
"Anyway, I've got little speeches written to introduce all of the girls, and they're great! Except for this one. Do either of you know..." Here, he trailed off and peered down at the name of a last-minute entry into the auction. "...Maya Butrheaks?"  
  
At this, Tanker and Amp exchanged glances of disbelief, and then both burst into hysterical laughter before the startled, confused eyes of Sam.  
  
And in the third stall from the end, Malcolm stifled his giggles. Certainly, the scheme wasn't quite as involved, useful, or altogether intelligent as a Mega-Virus would have been, but he had spent the last three days desperately trying to drum up as much cash as possible to make sure that no one could outbid him on the date with Jennifer. By the time it occurred to him that this would be a wonderful opportunity to reduce Sam's credibility, it had been far too late.  
  
"I wonder what they meant about hoping a virus didn't show up to ruin everything, though..." he murmured to himself as Sam, Tanker, and Amp left the washrooms.  
  
----------------------------------------  
  
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"I hate high heels," Sydney pouted on her way to the tiled floor of the girls' washrooms for the third time since putting them on four seconds ago.  
  
'She's really not very good at this,' Yoli mused.  
  
"I know you do, Syd," Jennifer sighed. "And let me guess: you also hate skirts, nylons, hairspray, make-up, and perfume?"  
  
Sydney stared at the other girl oddly.  
  
"Well, no. I'm not a...a feminist, or something," she laughed. "I just hate things that have the potential to break my ankle...and, y'know, Malcolm."  
  
"Yeah, Malcolm couldn't break a piece of spaghetti," Yoli snickered.  
  
"I really hope he's gone suddenly and unexpectedly broke," Jennifer said viciously.  
  
"Or been hit by a bus and splattered all over the road?" Yoli suggested.  
  
"Yoli!"  
  
"Maybe Sam found a way to institute that spine-nose threat after all," Sydney added, smothering a giggle as Jennifer turned suddenly and distinctly green.  
  
"Guys! That's gross!" that same cheerleader told them both reproachfully.  
  
"We know," Yoli assured her sweetly. "Now, let's get going before Sam decides to use us being late as an excuse to storm the girls' locker rooms."  
  
---------------------------------------  
  
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"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen...and others," Sam greeted the crowded cafeteria with a warm, more than slightly cheesy grin. "And welcome to the Charity Club's first annual bachelorette auction!"  
  
"And hopefully the last," an unidentified voice called from behind the curtain dividing the front and the back of the stage.  
  
"Syd, I think it's a little too late to talk us out of this idea now!" Sam called over his shoulder.  
  
"Fine," the voice sighed before falling silent, most likely going off to read a book or whatever it is that smart people do; I wouldn't know. ^_^  
  
"Anyway," Sam continued brightly, nothing daunted, "let's bring out our first bachelorette of the evening! Bachelorette Number One: Julie Maxwell!"  
  
Amid the applause that followed, mostly from Julie's boyfriend, Bob, the pretty young woman came out onto the stage, her mass of waist-length red hair swinging behind her as she did so.  
  
"Julie tells me she enjoys football, video games, and her boyfriend, Bob...on a daily basis, I'm sure," Sam drawled suggestively and earning an elbow to the gut from Julie and an angry growl from Bob for his attempt at humour. "Okay, okay, sorry. So, let's start the bidding at twenty dollars, shall we?"  
  
Several hands immediately shot up, most quickly and enthusiastically Bob's.  
  
"Alright! Do I see forty dollars?"  
  
The hands stayed up for the most part.  
  
"Fifty?"  
  
One or two hand went down, but the majority of them stayed high. Julie beamed at the audience, smoothing down her short black skirt, bending over just enough that they were offered a rather nice view as her sleeveless silvery blue blouse gaped ever so slightly. At that, several more hands shot up, and one young man called out recklessly,  
  
"A hundred!"  
  
"A hundred!" Sam repeated, inwardly letting out a whoop of triumph. What a great start! "Do I hear a hundred and five?"  
  
Several hands stayed up, and Bob's arm seemed almost ready to detach itself from his shoulder in order to get up higher.  
  
"A hundred and twenty?" Sam prompted.  
  
Several hands lowered, but a sprinkling of hands about the room still stayed high.  
  
"A hundred and thirty?"  
  
Finally, most of the hands dropped.  
  
"Okay, Bob, okay," Sam laughed to the young man still half in his seat and half on the table in an effort to get his hand as high as possible. "You've got it, man. Why don't you come up to the stage and talk to your GIRLFRIEND about whether the night we've got planned works for both of you?"  
  
"Hot diggity!" Bob cheered, bounding up to the stage where he wrapped an arm around Julie and gave her a sound kiss amid the whoops and catcalls of Sam, and the decided indifference of everyone else, save, of course, Julie herself.  
  
"Next up," Sam proclaimed as the two scampered out into the hallway. "Bachelorette Number Two: Hannah Stevens. Hannah, come on out!"  
  
At this call, a girl not particularly tall, nor particularly short, nor particularly thin, nor particularly curvy, stepped out from behind the curtain. She ran a nervous hand through her longish mousy brown hair, her somewhat large, greenish eyes shyly avoiding the crowd in the cafeteria.  
  
"Hey, Hannah," Sam greeted her warmly. "Alright; Hannah tells me that she plays the clarinet in the school band, is a faithful member of the Sewing Club, and enjoys chocolate ice cream and Brad Pitt movies."  
  
At this point, Hannah wiped her palms on her white summer dress and whispered something to Sam.  
  
"Oh, and she goes to each and every one of North Valley High School's football games!"  
  
At this, the students who did not know the significance of this statement cheered, once again enforcing the message that sports are the only thing worth caring about when in high school. The three students who DID know the significance of the statement, though, gazed in sympathy at their friend as she managed to gather up the courage to sneak a quick peek at Tanker, who seemed on the verge of falling asleep.  
  
"Great! So, let's start the bidding with twenty dollars!"  
  
A few hands shot up, and Hannah smiled gratefully at her 'band buddies,' quite grateful to them for saving her from total humiliation.  
  
"I hear twenty! Do I have thirty?"  
  
The hands already up stayed up, joined by a few others.  
  
"Great! I have thirty! Forty, anyone?"  
  
One of the hands slid hesitantly down, its owner shooting Hannah an apologetic look. 'Sorry, man,' he thought, 'but I only have so much cash.'  
  
"Forty! I have forty. Fifty?"  
  
Most of the rest of the hands slid down, only two remaining up.  
  
"Fifty! I hear fifty!" Sam announced. "Well, SEE fifty, anyway. Sixty?"  
  
One hand stayed up. Hannah beamed at her best friend since the beginning of high school, Carl Edwards, only slightly disappointed with the outcome of this. Well, even if he wasn't a tall, gorgeous football player, she knew she'd have fun with Carl. And it WAS sweet of him to give up sixty dollars to spend an evening with her, which they'd probably be doing anyway, but in front of one of their television sets, with their conjoined anime collections to keep them company.  
  
"Great! Sold for sixty dollars to...that kid. Sorry, man, I don't think we've met."  
  
"Carl," the short bespectacled youth informed him with a friendly grin, raking a hand through his blond hair as he started up to the front.  
  
"Right, Carl. Well, I'll let you two discuss whether the night we picked works for you," Sam announced before flipping to his next cue card.  
  
"Alright! Bachelorette Number Three: Maya Butrheaks." Then he frowned, oblivious to the snickers erupting about the room, most wildly from one dark-haired boy near the back of the room. "Who is she, anyway? I don't remember her."  
  
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"Hmph!" Kilokhan exclaimed, quite offended, from somewhere else entirely. "We are nearing the end of the second portion of this tale, and I have yet to appear with a brilliant scheme for the decimation of Servo and the bringing of the world of meat-things to its knees!"  
  
"Whine, whine, whine," Zordon grumbled from the neighbouring box. "At least you don't get killed off in your show."  
  
"Actually, I seem to have something of that in my memory banks. It had to do with the odd occurrence - the 'episode,' if you will - surrounding the seasonal celebration of Christmas. However, since the producers of the show seem to be able to format themselves no sense of continuity, no one remembers it."  
  
"Oh, do you mean in the same way that the Rangers seem to have no recollection of anything that has occurred within the past five years of their lives? We've switched teams about twelve times now - we've even replaced Alpha! - and every time, the same thing happens: we have an emotional farewell, and then everything picks up right where it left off the very next day."  
  
At this point, both looked up as a newcomer sauntered into the room, set a box down on the table, and left immediately.  
  
"Greetings, Zordon. Greetings, Kilokhan," Professor Hart said smilingly. "What have I missed?"  
  
"Perhaps if SOMEONE would get here on time," Kilokhan groused, "then he wouldn't always have to make us repeat ourselves."  
  
"There, there, Kilokhan, you're getting bitter. By the way," Zordon continued, sighing, "pretend I'm patting you on the shoulder right now."  
  
"Pika?" a small voice spoke up hesitantly from the door as a strange, spherical red and white object rolled into the room.  
  
"Hey!" Zordon exclaimed. "He's in a ball!"  
  
"This is a support group for beings in boxes only!" Kilokhan told the intruder severely.  
  
"Pika," the tiny voice lamented.  
  
"Get him, guys!" Professor Hart exclaimed.  
  
And with that, three boxes bounced off the table and over the floor in hot pursuit of the ball.  
  
"Stupid creature in a ball!" Kilokhan and Professor Hart snarled together.  
  
"We don't want your kind 'round here!" Zordon added.  
  
"Pika!" the tiny voice whimpered plaintively.  
  
End Notes: Hee! I hope I haven't alienated everyone who was previously reading this with the Guys Stuck in Boxes Support Group. Anyway, this is the last that such a thing will be mentioned (in this story, anyway), and is also the last silly side-trip I'm planning on taking.  
  
And as always, thanks for reading! Big hugs and chocolates to all! ^_^ 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
  
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While the odd procession of boxes and one very frightened red and white ball made its way down the streets of North Valley, Sam finally learned that the elusive Maya Buttrheaks did not exist, and decided to salvage what he could of his dignity and move on with the auction.  
  
"And now, the moment many of you have been waiting for," he began, glaring icily at Malcolm, "we'll bring out our next bachelorrete, Number 7. Jennifer Doyle!"  
  
As the young woman, her figure shown off to very good advantage by a short, clingy skirt and blouse of some kind of filmy blue material, made her way to the front of the stage, most eyes swivelled, amused, to the dark-haired boy near the back of the room, as though expecting him to immediately offer his entire college tuition.  
  
"Now, most of you already know Jen, some of you because you're freakin' STALKERS," Sam was meanwhile continuing, his glare becoming more ferocious by the second.  
  
"Calm down, Sam," Jennifer murmured to him.  
  
"Right, right," he sighed, taking a deep breath. "Anyway, as I was saying, she's co-captain of the cheering squad, founder and president of every club that Yoli hadn't already started - and believe me, finding one is always a feat in itself - and has been voted most likely to be assassinated by a jealous rival before the age of twenty-five. She enjoys drawing, helping the needy, and hanging out with her handsome, charming, and witty boyfriend."  
  
"And who might that be?" a voice shouted out from the audience.  
  
"Shut up, Malcolm," Sam shot back, glaring. Then he cleared his throat and went on. "Let's start the bidding at twenty dollars, okay?"  
  
Sam stole a sideways glance at his girlfriend and found her wearing a rather pleased expression as nearly every young man in the room, barring only Amp and Tanker, raised their hands.  
  
"Thirty! Do I see thirty?"  
  
The hands all stayed high.  
  
"Forty?" Sam ventured, raising an eyebrow.  
  
Still not a hand budged.  
  
"Fifty?"  
  
One or two hands dropped, but most stayed high.  
  
"Sixty," Sam called out. "Do I see sixty dollars?"  
  
Two more hands dropped, leaving about three quarters of the room trying eagerly. Sam sighed. Time to thin out the ranks a little.  
  
"Eighty-five dollars! Do I see eighty-five?"  
  
This reduced the number of hands raised to about half.  
  
"A hundred and fifty," a young man near the back, Michael Porter, called out, grinning smugly as several hands slid down, their owners frowning grumpily.  
  
"Great! A hundred and fifty," Sam repeated. "Do I see one-seventy-five?"  
  
"Two hundred," Malcolm called out recklessly.  
  
"Oh, brother," Sam muttered, a vein in his forehead protruding ever so slightly. "What did he do - sell his hentai collection?"  
  
"Sam, calm down," Jennifer muttered. "If he wins, who do you think has to spend the evening with him? I think I have worse problems than you do right now."  
  
"Yeah, you're right," he sighed. Then he pasted a very forced smile on his face. "Alright! Two hundred! Do I see two-ten?"  
  
Four hands stayed up. Of course, this was slightly less impressive than it might have been, considering that two were Malcolm's.  
  
"Two-fifty," Michael Portner called.  
  
Sam hid a smile with a great effort. There was no way Malcolm would be able to out-bid the wealthiest boy in school! Even if Portner had a reputation for being a bit of a creep, he couldn't possibly be a bigger one than Malcolm! Much comforted by this thought, the young self-appointed auctioneer grinned at the crowd.  
  
"The charity club thanks you, Michael. Now, do I hear two-sixty? Anyone? Two-sixty?"  
  
"Two-sixty," Malcolm called immediately.  
  
"Three-hundred," Michael retorted, smiling smugly at the impressed murmurs of his fellow students.  
  
Sam raised an eyebrow, not quite relishing the fact that the auction seemed to be getting along quite all right without him.  
  
"Hey, that's-" he began, but was immediately interrupted.  
  
"Three hundred and twenty!" Malcolm called out recklessly. God only knew if he could actually find that much without visiting the pawn shop within the next few days, or begging a few extra dollars from his parents the next time they phoned, but one had to take chances, if one wanted to attain one's desires in this world. If he could only get Jennifer alone for an evening, he was certain he could show her that he was the one she was meant to be with...  
  
"Five hundred!" Michael Portner spoke up with a smug smirk, much to the inexpressible relief of both the auctioneer and the current 'auctionee.'  
  
Not, Jennifer would have hastened to reassure anyone who asked, that she disliked Malcolm. He just...freaked her out. A lot.  
  
Sam would have made no such reassurance, particularly had Malcolm won a date with his girlfriend. For, as everyone knows, no one ever likes those who are covetous of their significant others.  
  
But back to the story.  
  
Among the decidedly impressed reactions of the folks involved in the auction and those not, one young man gave off a much more negative one.  
  
"What?!" Malcolm sputtered furiously, doing a quick recalculation of how he might drum up over five hundred dollars quickly. No, there was no chance. The most he could attain was four hundred.  
  
"Congratulations, Michael," Sam was meanwhile saying. "Come on up to the stage and get everything set up. But just remember, she's mine."  
  
Amid the easy laughter that followed from Sam, Michael, and Jennifer, as well as the rest of the room, Michael made his way to the stage, where Jennifer climbed down, minding, of course, to keep her skirt tugged down to a somewhat decent length.  
  
"Damn you, Portner," Malcolm hissed as the wealthy boy sauntered off, arm in arm with the lovely blonde cheerleader. Then he sighed, recalling the wad of cash in his wallet. "Now what am I going to use this money for?"  
  
"Alright!" Sam chirped from up on the stage. "Next up: Bachelorette Number Eight. Everyone, give it up for Yolonda Pratchert. Yoli, come on out!"  
  
Amid the hearty applause that followed, most heartily from the school's principal and father to the lovely dark-skinned girl, Yoli strode out from behind the curtain and stood next to Sam, shooting everyone in the crowd a warm smile.  
  
"As the school president, assistant captain of the cheerleading squad, founder of twenty various clubs and teams over her last two years of high school, who wouldn't want to spend an evening with lovely and vivacious Yolonda Pratchert? She tells me she enjoys romantic comedies, hikes in the mountains, and raspberry ripple frozen yogurt. But make sure you have her back by eleven. After all, Principal Pratchert has your information on file, and he can find out where you live."  
  
This clever quip was met with one or two weak chuckles, and death-glares from two generations of Pratcherts. Clearing his throat nervously, Sam made a snap decision.  
  
"Okay, tough room. Let's start the bidding at...twenty dollars."  
  
A hand shot up immediately, one that was connected to everyone's favourite space cadet, and was soon joined by several others.  
  
"Great! I see twenty. Do I have thirty?"  
  
One or two hands slid back down, but the majority stayed up.  
  
"Thirty. Do I see forty? Forty-five?"  
  
"One hundred dollars!" a voice shouted out from the back of the room.  
  
Yoli raised an eyebrow. Hey, maybe someone would be able to give Jen a run for her money - or rather, Michael Portner's money - after all.  
  
Meanwhile, all heads were swivelling to stare at the source of the bid, who proved himself to be Gregg Briskel, a sophomore who had always had something of a crush on Yoli.  
  
Amp's eyes hardened. He knew that Gregg was considered by most girls to be somewhat good-looking. If Yoli spent an evening with him, he, Amp, would have no chance.  
  
"A hundred and fifty!" he called out.  
  
Sam began to snicker uncontrollably. Ah, hadn't he known it! It was surprising, though. Of their little group of three young men, Amp was the one he would have expected this sort of jealousy from the least. But hey, maybe Amp's jealousy would get the Charity Club a few extra bucks.  
  
"I hear a hundred and fifty," he managed through his laughter. "Do I hear one-seventy-five?"  
  
Gregg's hand shot back up.  
  
"I hear a hundred and seventy-five. Dare I say, two-hundred?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
Both Amp's hand and Gregg's stayed up. Hmm...this was a bad sign. Sam shook his head. He didn't want Amp to owe someone his earnings for the next fifty years in order to go on a date with a girl he as good as had already.  
  
"Remember, people, don't take this too seriously. The dates are in public, well-lit places. So if you have a girlfriend going on one of these, just take it in stride."  
  
With these words of Sam's, all gazes, aside from Yoli's, which fell to the ground, as her cheeks grew visibly red as she smiled slightly, shot to a certain tall, brown-haired quarterback.  
  
If Sam had been less preoccupied with getting Amp NOT to go deeply into debt, he might have noticed this, and wondered what silly scheme Tanker had come up with to keep Sydney from being sent on a date. However, Sam was very preoccupied, indeed, and so he kept right on with the task at hand.  
  
"Um...do I hear two hundred and ten?"  
  
Both hands stayed high.  
  
"Two hundred and twenty?"  
  
"Two hundred and fifty!" Amp shouted.  
  
Sam sighed in dismay, but it seemed that Amp had won.  
  
Gregg Briskel shrugged and lowered his hand. He had a goodish piece of money, and this might have been a fun way to pass the time, as well as a way to give to charity, but who was he to keep true love from flowering? Sure, Yoli was cute, and a lot of fun, but he could find another girl.  
  
"Alright!" Sam said brightly. "Sold, for two hundred and fifty, to Amp Pere. Amp, why don't you come on up here and confirm with Yoli that the day we've set up is good for you both...not that you couldn't just do it the next time you WENT OUT TOGETHER!"  
  
At this, Amp looked slightly panicked. Had he overreacted a little? Now he owed them two hundred and fifty dollars! But the memory of Gregg Briskel's smirking face, which oddly enough, hadn't been smirking, rose in his mind, and banished all thought of the money.  
  
"Hi, Yoli," he greeted sheepishly as she hopped off of the stage.  
  
"Amp, what in the hell did you do that for?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
She swatted him on the shoulder.  
  
"You KNOW what I mean, you big idiot! Bid so much on me! I don't want you to be broke for the next year because..."  
  
"It's for a good cause, Yoli. I don't mind."  
  
"Y-yeah...it's a good cause," she agreed, looking slightly let down.  
  
"Two good causes, actually," he corrected shyly, taking her hand, and the two shared a shy smile, suddenly understanding each other a lot better.  
  
------------------------------------------------  
  
Sam averted his eyes abruptly, suddenly feeling like he was eavesdropping on something much better kept private.  
  
"Okay! That went well! Next up: Bachelorette Number Nine: Sydney Forester. Come on out, Syd! And you'd better not have run screaming from the school!"  
  
"Shut up, Sam," Sydney muttered at him as she emerged from behind the curtain and hesitantly made her way to the centre of the stage, beside Sam.  
  
"I love you too, kid," he grinned back. "Alright; now, is there a person here who has not heard of the legend of the girl who not only maintained a 4.0 grade point average, but scored above that several times? She enjoys the university library, anything to do with computers, and Beavis and Butthead."  
  
At this point, Sydney grabbed the microphone from Sam.  
  
"She'd also like the auctioneer to know that she's going to sneak into his house and murder him in his sleep."  
  
Several people snickered. Sam retrieved the microphone and cleared his throat.  
  
"Uh...anyway, if you want an evening of intelligent conversation, or just need help with your homework, take out your wallets, guys! Let's start the bidding at twenty dollars. Do I see twenty dollars?"  
  
No one moved. Sam frowned. What was going on?  
  
"Uh...anyone?"  
  
Nothing.  
  
"Anyone at all? Twenty dollars, c'mon, people!"  
  
Still nothing. Sam stole a sideways glance at his friend, who had moved on from annoyed, and now looked confused, embarrassed, and rather close to tears. He took her hand and gave it a small, friendly squeeze.  
  
"I don't know what's going on here," he muttered to her, keeping the microphone carefully away from his mouth. "Look, don't worry. I'll figure this out."  
  
"I knew this was going to happen. It must be karmic payback for talking those girls out of it," she sighed. "Can I just leave now?"  
  
"No! Stay there!"  
  
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Meanwhile, out in the audience, Malcolm frowned. Why he had stayed for the rest of the auction after he had lost his chance at Jennifer, he wasn't quite sure. To be sure, he had gotten to see a little high school drama between Yolonda and that idiot, Amp, but that sort of thing really did little, aside from boring him. This was strange, though. Why on earth was Sydney getting so little of a response? As far as he could tell, there wasn't a person in the school who actually disliked her. Surely someone would have...  
  
Ah, but what was this? As a whisper from behind him reached his ears, he listened intently to what was being said.  
  
"Man, don't bid on her!"  
  
"Why the hell not, dude? She's cute! And she's not pretending she's having fun. I like that. AND I have a physics test comin' up!"  
  
"'Cause her boyfriend - you see that big guy in the football jacket? - will pummel you into roadkill if you do."  
  
"Gotcha, man. I heard that guy's a little psycho with his girl."  
  
"You know it, buddy."  
  
Malcolm smirked. Ah, so Tanker was behind this. Well, one couldn't blame him. When he thought about it at all, he was certain that someone as intelligent as Sydney had to be either suffering severe head trauma to stay with someone like Tanker, or be horrendously insecure in her own abilities to find someone else. Perhaps Tanker had, with his two brain cells, noticed this, and hadn't liked it. So he had threatened to kill anyone who bid on her. Come to think of it, that would certainly explain most of the young men in the room stealing nervous glances in Tanker's direction, as well as the foreboding scowl he was wearing.  
  
Ah, well, Malcolm shrugged. It wasn't his problem. Although, it might be fun to bid on her himself. She was one of the few females that he thought he could conceivably talk to and find interesting, and he did feel somewhat sorry for her, standing up there, looking like a lost little girl at the overwhelming silence that greeted Sam's attempts to find a bidder. Really, eyes covered by a shiny film of tears, and her lip trembling ever so slightly, he found himself with the strangest urge to break his adamant rule and hug someone. And, of course, pissing off Tanker was always worth the effort.  
  
Just as he was about to raise his hand, he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. He turned to meet the intensely glaring eyes of none other than that same football player.  
  
"Yes, Canker? Have you forgotten where the bathrooms are?" he drawled.  
  
"Bid on her. Now."  
  
Malcolm looked at him strangely.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"You heard me, you little pus head. I'll pay you whatever you have to bid to get her; hell, I'll even go on the date for you."  
  
"If you wanted her to get bids, why did you threaten to kill anyone who might have bid on her on their own?"  
  
"Look, I meant to bid on her myself, but then I ran out of money when we all pooled our resources to pay for the restaurant gift certificates everyone's gonna be using on the dates."  
  
"Oh, that was intelligent," he scoffed.  
  
"Just do it, Malcolm," Tanker growled at the smaller boy.  
  
"Fine," he sighed. "But I don't envy you if Sydney finds out about your idiotic little plot."  
  
"Yeah, neither do I," Tanker admitted in something remarkably close to a whimper as he slid back into his own chair next to Amp one table over.  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
"What did you do that for?" Amp muttered, indicating the table next to them.  
  
"Well...I ran out of money," Tanker admitted. "And Syd's gonna kill me if she finds out that she went through all this embarrassment and didn't get any bids because of me."  
  
"So you sent her out with Count Dracula?"  
  
"I'm paying him back, and going on the date for him," Tanker explained in a hushed tone.  
  
Amp shrugged uneasily, feeling that this would find some way to be shot to hell and get them all entangled in some idiotic situation.  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
'That's what you think, Tanker,' Malcolm was meanwhile cackling inwardly as he raised his hand and called out,  
  
"Seventy-five."  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
Up on stage, Sam almost swallowed his tongue. And then, as he stole a glance at Sydney and her utterly murderous expression, he decided that choking on his own tongue might not be such a bad way to go.  
  
"O-okay," he said. "I hear seventy-five. Do I hear...eighty?"  
  
"Eighty," another boy called out.  
  
'A little late, Dwayne,' Sydney thought, nonetheless shooting Dwayne Hoffletinker a smile of thanks. 'Still, it's nice to know that we brains stick together.'  
  
"Eighty. I hear eighty. Do I hear ninety?" Sam asked, his colour returning slightly. Now that Syd was getting a couple bids, she might be a little less...vengeful, and he might not need to sleep with a weapon under his pillow.  
  
"Ninety," Malcolm called under the watchful eye of Tanker.  
  
Sam frowned. Oh, geez, if Syd ended up spending the evening with Malcolm, she'd definitely make good on the threat to kill him in his sleep!  
  
"Okay, ninety. Do I hear a hundred?"  
  
"A hundred," the boy behind Malcolm, who had obviously needed that help on his homework rather badly, or thought the young woman to be remarkably cute, to try his luck in such a way.  
  
"A hundred and twenty," Malcolm called immediately.  
  
"A-a hundred and twenty," Sam repeated. "Do I hear a hundred and thirty?"  
  
The hands remained still, though, as the rest of the young men present were apparently not willing to test their luck.  
  
"Alright. Sold for one-twenty to Malcolm Frink. Come on up to the front, alright, Malcolm?" Sam requested, too stunned by this odd turn of events to think up a witty remark.  
  
All eyes within the cafeteria stayed glued to Malcolm as he made his way to the stage.  
  
"Um...hi," Sydney greeted hesitantly as she climbed down the steps leading from the stage.  
  
"Hi," he returned, leading her to the hallway.  
  
'Oh, boy,' Sam was meanwhile reflecting up on the stage. 'She really is going to kill me for this. Getting her stuck with Malcolm for an evening makes stealing her clothes and laptop and sending Mrs. Starkey into cyberspace seem like nothing!'  
  
However, all he said aloud, though he almost gagged as he said it, and inwardly quailed as he caught Tanker's eye, was,  
  
"Cute, aren't they?"  
  
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End Notes: Well, this chapter was a bit lacklustre, but it sets up the rest of the plot. And we are working gradually toward a nice bit of plot...with blood and everything! Yaay! ^_^  
  
Anyway, to those of you who still are, thanks for reading the deranged ramblings of a girl made half crazy by relief at having survived exam- month. ^_^ 


End file.
